


Let Down Your Hair

by MoogleTerra



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: F/M, Imprisonment, Physical Abuse, dried blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:38:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoogleTerra/pseuds/MoogleTerra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of worrying about her fate, Celes worries instead about her hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Down Your Hair

If only she could wash the red out of her hair, she would be so happy. She would endure any injustice and inhumanity, if only she could scrub her hair. She cared not for the rustic stains on her lime green bodice, nor for the crimson plumes that billowed out on her once snow white cape. She did not bother worrying about the revolting blots that were on the rock floors when she was brought in, and tried her best to ignore her shackles.  
Her hair was her only vexation.

_"Your hair is so beautiful, Celes. A woman's hair is her crowning glory. And yours is like golden silk brought from the east,"_ her father figure told her while running an ivory brush through her silken locks. Leo loved playing with her hair in the evenings after she had a hard day of training,when they were both full from supper, and winding down for the evening. He never once complimented another feature of hers, yet she had many pleasing ones.

Her eyes, the icy blue, smoldering lamps that lit her face aglow. Her nose, pointed and button-like; the perfect size for her face. Her cheeks that blushed easily, turning a rosy color instead of an unsightly crimson. And her skin, milky, pale, creamy, and smooth as a rose's petals.

But he never said anything about her other features, even when she went out of her way to look pretty for him to notice. It was always, "Oh, Celes, you're hair looks positively lovely up," and "Celes, your hair is so soft."

She had wanted Leo to see her for more than his adopted daughter with the hair like sunshine, but she knew, somehow, that he never would. So she tried her best to keep her hair lovely, to make him happy, and to see him smile through the laugh-line crinkles around his mouth and eyes.

She found that she could only move her arms about two feet away from the wall without catching her wrists painfully.  
Whenever one of her guards was asleep in the chair near the door, mumbling about foods she probably would not be able to eat ever again after this ordeal, Celes would run her fingers through her hair. Tangles started snarling together during the second day of imprisonment.

After the commander was finished slapping her, hitting her, kicking her into the wall with all of his might, blood oozed down from her wounds and soaked into her once sunlight shining hair.

The guards had only given her a piece or two of cheap bread from the bakery and a glass of water every day, knowing that it was definitely not enough for a woman of her strength to function properly. Her fighting edge left her hands, her magic power had drained her quickly after the first day she was beaten so badly that she used as many cure spells as she could, only to faint from the excess strain on her already fragile body.

Normally, she would have put up more of a fight, she would have frozen the soldiers who wailed into her with their fists and boots solid, she could have killed them easily.  
But, for what she had done, she deserved her punishment. Disregarding orders, saving people in South Figaro from being blasted away, telling the Emperor that "he could go rot;" what would General Leo say?

Surely, he would be disappointed in her, but perhaps he would be proud of her for standing up for her beliefs.  
He always was one to be bull headed about his ideals, and Celes had learned that trait from him quickly.

Celes sat on the ruddy floor, dried blood becoming a brown crust on her legs, her eyes burning with her internal chill, but never giving away that she was afraid of Leo seeing her like that. Not only did she betray her life in the Empire, but she was letting his favorite pastime deteriorate.

Celes gave her fingers another forlorn pull through the matted fading golden locks, thinking of all of the times Leo had told her that he sought solace for his past misdeeds in her. That when they sat together all of those evenings, him brushing and combing her hair, that he finally felt at peace with the world. Even though she longed for the day that he said, "You look breath taking today," she loved those moments with him before the hearth.

Her weak arms gathered all of her hair together over her right shoulder, holding it as straight as she could with those chains in the way, and stroked her hair. It smelled like iron from her blood, and oily from not bathing, but also like a faint hint of the floral soap she used to clean it when she bathed.

_"Celes, let down your hair. Let me hold you in my lap. Let me brush your hair."  
_

Her fingers struggled to comb through _,_ making the strands pull at her scalp slightly.

_"You know something, love? Sometimes I think your hair is magic, the way it seems to glow, and melt away all my sadness."_

The gold was fading now, the glow barely shining through.

A guard came in then, his eyes looked bloodshot, fresh from the pub she assumed. He ignored what she was doing with her hair, and smacked the sleeping guard awake.  
They both conversed for a moment, before turning on her. In between punches and blows to her head, she thought of those happy moments with Leo. In front of the fire, both taking solace in her gift.


End file.
